


The Right Way This Time

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [28]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 10:22:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14767775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: When Peter had been Lost in the Storm (in Coming Home),  and Andrew came to his rescue, Andrew had cautioned Peter -  "I'm back working for Mr. Perkins at his drugstore; if you want to find me, do it the right way next time!"   Has the time come?  Has Peter healed enough to take the chance of reaching out to find Andrew, making sure his friend is alright?  And if so, how will the others at Haven feel about that?  After all, Andrew J. Carter just isn't everyone's cup of tea, what with the explosions and klutziness and non-stop chattering.





	1. The Debate

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's not like we could just forget about dear Andrew!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They can understand Peter being worried about Andrew; there seems to be more than adequate reason to be. Why he is being so stubborn about DOING something about it, now that's the question. After all, there is a ready solution if he would just be willing to take advantage of it. But, as anyone who knew him could attest, 'stubborn' was one of the Cockney's foremost attributes. Will he let this chance go by? It looks like he just might, until Maudie takes a firm hand, literally, to bring him into line.

"Well," she asked somewhat impatiently, "you know where he is, we've found out his circumstances aren't what we'd like, Peter; reach out to him, ask him to come visit us. You won't learn anything more than you have from the letters without that, will you? Bring him here, be around him, get to know him again. Doesn't sound like he's doing well, you aren't doing well with worrying about him and the others, DO something about it!"

"And then do what, Caeide?" he asked bitterly. "Offer to set 'im up somewhere in a little business of 'is own? Offer to buy back that little brown 'ouse 'e mourns so, or maybe even bring back 'is Mum that 'e mourns most of all? I've about as much chance of doing the last as the first two!," as he slammed his coffee mug down on the counter.

He was in another of his dark moods; they were coming far less often these days, but when they hit, the whole house felt it. The women had tried catering to them, defending against them, arguing him out of them; nothing seemed to work for more than one time, and their hearts ached for him, for no one was as upset by the moods as he was. He was fretful and anxious as he felt himself slipping toward one, morose and angry and depressed as one hit, and grim and ashamed of himself once another one was past.

This time she had an answer to at least a piece or two of his quandry. She went to the office and pulled out a small register she kept in the far back of a drawer. She stood, looking down at it, remembering. No one knew about this except her parents; they'd discussed it with her when she told them what she intended, upon her return from London at the end of that Internship year, to be sure she knew what she was taking on, but seeing her firm resolve, recognizing the Bonding that had taken place, never questioned her again. She had never faltered, even when the doing meant tightening the belt, taking on extra jobs she might not have taken otherwise, to make sure there was sufficient for this and for Haven and for other needs that couldn't be neglected. Heaving a deep breath, knowing if nothing else this might change his mood from bitter to furious at her arrogance, she made her way back down to the kitchen. He was still there, and didn't even look up from his staring at the table in front of him.

She poured herself another cup of coffee, refilled his, only to the halfway mark, figuring if he slammed it again, no sense mopping up more than necessary. Then she slid the small register over in front of him. He stared at it, frowing in puzzlement, and opened it. Inside, on the first page, was his name, a long number, and a date, not a recent one either. He turned the page to see columns of figures, a rather largish sum to begin, fairly small numbers next, entered on a quarterly basis, but consistent. The numbers increased further down the lines, til they were quite respectable numbers, though decreasing sharply again several months ago, and the balance at the end of each column, the total balance in its own column, was over twelve thousand pounds. He did the pounds to dollars conversion in his head, and his jaw dropped.

"What is this?" he hardly dared to ask.

"Since that year in London, you've had Clan shares; I believe one of the elders tried to tell you at one time but you weren't in the mood to listen, so we decided not to vex you with the details. Yours were all in cash, not a mixture of cash and goods, so they've added up to a tidy sum." She frowned up at him, at his disbelief, "Peter, you KNOW you've had shares since you came here, I've told you that, though you've never asked where or how or how much. So do Maude and Marisol. The amounts are less for each of us now, since the total is split further with it being the four of us, and I don't do much specialty work now to add to it, but THOSE amounts have built up over time, those were from my first Bonding to you, a full half, those are yours free and clear." She bent forward and looked him straight in the eye, "and before I hear any nonsense from you, that is yours, yours alone, whether you stay as we want you to, or whether you go, which we would regret beyond belief."

She was right; he raged. Of all the presumption, she just assumed, well if she thought he, bloody interferring woman . . . Marisol stuck her head around the corner, eyes wide, mouth open. She hadn't heard such since that time in London when he'd had such fits over them nursing him thru a severe illness. Maude pushed her way around Marisol and walked over to the stove, starting to put the kettle on to boil, ignoring the turmoil.

Peter started on her, "and I guess you 'ad a 'and in this. All these years, just as if I'm some bloody lapdog on a leash, like I've no say whatsoever! I've a mind to catch that next train outta 'ere, get back where at least me life's me own to manage without some pack of meddlesome besoms . . ."

At which Maude, very slowly turned around, saw the contained misery in Caeide's eyes, though she tried to hide it, saw the near hysteria in his, did what she had to do. With a deep sigh, she walked closer, shaking her head sadly, "laddie!" and to the shock of everyone, heaved back and slapped him hard across the face. His head snapped around, and then twisted back, his eyes huge, incredulous, his hand cradling his cheek. Dead silence filled the room, Caeide as shocked as Peter.

Then, from the doorway, a snort, then a snicker, then full bellied laughter as Marisol totally lost her composure. She made her way to the table and fair collapsed into a chair, still laughing; every time she almost got herself under control, she looked at Peter then Caeide, then Maude and back around again, and it started up again.

"Lord, we should 'ave thought of that years ago; didn't 'ave a clue it would actually stop one of 'is rants!" 

He looked at Maude and Marisol, "and you knew about this?"

Marisol shook her head, "No, not til now, but it's easy enough to see what you 'ave in front of you, Maude and I 'ave a similar register started after we came 'ere; 'er explanation was clear enough, as was your reaction. I know, it was absolutely shameful of 'er, wasn't it, Peter?" in mock sympathy, "what with 'er loving you so much even then that she 'ad a thought for you; 'er family accepting that you meant so much to 'er as to permit this sharing, just like you 'ad a right, just like that Bond was important! Shameful, that's what I'd call it. And the way she's 'eld it over your 'ead all this time, using it to bring you to 'arness, again and again! Don't know 'ow you can forgive 'er for that." Marisol started chuckling again, shaking her head, reaching out to take the cup of tea Maude was handing her. 

Peter looked down at the register in front of him, touching it as if making sure it was real.

"Why now? "he asked quietly, his voice back to normal, no rage left in him. The moods worked that way, sometimes; in the full swing of anger, then it'd be gone, as if it'd never happened.

"It was there for when you had a need, or when you asked about your shares. What you said about Andrew, about not being able to do anything for him, there was a real need in you. If, once you see him and talk with him, you decide there is something he needs, some way you can help, you HAVE the means. If there isn't enough there," and she stopped as his head came back up sharply, his jaw clenched, for all the world like one of those great mules shying away from something. She thought, ruefully, {"that's not such an unlikely comparison in all truth!"} and said nothing more in that vein, but moved to another part.

"As for the visit itself, Patrick and Meghada are in New York with her man, Goniff, Patrick attending a conference, the other two visiting with Goniff's mum and aunt. They could leave Goniff to some private time with the two ladies, they'd all relish that, I'd imagine, after all these years of being apart, and the ladies still making my sister somewhat nervous with all their fussing- well, now that they've accepted her - and the two of them fetch Andrew; he could fly back with the lot of them, they could get him here, and we'd arrange his return when it was time. He'd be accompanied all the way, and in good company; he's met Goniff and Meghada, and Patrick as well, I believe. They'd take good care of him and he'd be at ease with them; you two could spend your time together, let Maude and Marisol meet him. It could be a good thing, Peter, and not hard to arrange. Once you see him in person, maybe you'll be able to see your way more clearly."

She found some amusement in this suggestion, remembering where she'd first met Goniff, long before he'd become a part of the family - that slender young blond poker player from The Bull that year in London - the one she'd wondered whether Peter would try for him or for that brassy barmaid. She was more than glad he'd tried for the barmaid; it might have proved a bit awkward for everyone now if it had been different, what with Goniff Bonded to her sister Meghada and also to Craig Garrison. It was an amazingly small world, she'd noticed, what with realizing that her cousin Cally, who had grown to love her mentor Marya during HER internship year, was now Bonded to her, and them searching now for Louie LeBeau, Louie being a team mate to Peter and, according to Cally, referred to by Marya as 'my small one!'. Yes, there was a lovely three-part pairing in the making!

He finished his coffee, tucked the register in his shirt pocket, and walked out to the porch. Lighting a cigarette, he leaned on the rail for a long time; he pulled out the register and looked at it more closely, noting that first date, her fourteenth birthday, he recognized. That first amount, the big one, that must be some Clan tradition marking that anniversary, he thought, maybe a gift, maybe an inheritance. A full half, she'd said.

The other figures, coming quarterly, he recognized as the sharing that happened among all Clan members, amounts varying as to inheritance, involvement, jobs they'd taken on. Thinking on how every quarter was accounted for; he knew, he ran through the dates, just to be sure. Sometimes smaller amounts, many others larger but fairly even though growing at a regular pace, then those few quite a bit larger figures, then dropping again once Maude and Marisol started having their shares. What did those bigger amounts represent? He thought of the times he knew she'd worked in Germany and France, filling in for injured resistance members; he knew various of her Clan worked for the Allied forces at times; he knew she'd had a couple of bad experiences, one very bad, on such jobs. Was that were these bigger sums came from, had they come from a sell-off of stock, another inheritance? Did he want to know what she'd had to do for that money

He thought, too, of the drop shipments of supplies to the camp. He hadn't seen any deductions in the register at all; he thought back to the date of the emergency and checked again - no, there were no subtractions. He'd have to ask her about that, but he thought he might wait a bit; seemingly he'd already made more than a bit of a fool of himself in there, no sense making it twice in one day; he rather imagined she and the Clan had considered that a gift, to him and his mates, and wouldn't take kindly to the idea he'd want to repay it. And, he thought ruefully, considering the amount of supplies given them, the penicillin, the morphine and all the rest, and at wartime prices, he rather doubted even the healthy sum in that register would balance that.

He thought about it again, words that he thought to himself when he'd received that first bundle of letters 'without fail'; without fail she'd written him every two weeks, just as she always had; without fail, she'd shared what she had with him - that was Caeide, he now thought to himself, that would describe her so very well - without fail. And he shook his head again, at the wonder of it all.

{"I'd be able to 'elp Andrew, if he needs 'elp. Maybe the others too, if there's a need. And she's right about that too; there's no way for me to be sure IF 'e needs 'elp, or what kind, til I see 'im, talk to 'im, face to face."} Nodding resolutely, he stubbed out his cigarette, turned and walked back into the kitchen, to see how soon that could be arranged.

She knew when he came through the door the crisis had passed, at least for this time. His face had relaxed back into its more normal lines, and he met her eyes with a steady gaze, without the burning rage.

He poured himself a cup of tea from the fresh pot she'd made in anticipation of his return, sat down and asked, "just 'ow do we go about getting 'im 'ere?" and listened as she outlined her thoughts. Together they decided, together they made the call to the drugstore where Andrew worked, together they made the call to Meghada. It took some doing, getting Andrew free of his job for a month; the story they came up with, the one Caeide spoke directly to the drugstore owner about, involved some lingering military obligation, nothing Andrew had any control over, no, the lad wasn't in any kind of trouble, just some loose ends that needed handling; no, nothing he had the right to refuse to do, nor his employer to refuse, either; and yes, his position MUST be held open for him, regardless of the inconvenience. She was cold, crisp, efficient, and Peter was impressed; he hadn't been sure it was going to work. Still, it was managed.

Patrick and Meghada flew to the closest airport in that small plane belonging to the Clan, swept into town, gathered Carter rather as if he were an outbound parcel, and left in the same rush. They returned to New York, spent another day there, and then, with Goniff, returned across the ocean. Meghada and Goniff were dropped off near their enclave, Patrick and Carter proceeded on to Haven. 

By the time he was due to arrive, they had also heard from the other three, Hogan, Louie, Kinch, and arrangements had been made for them to visit Haven later in the month, but leaving a full three weeks for it to be just Andrew alone. Surely, that would be enough time to see if this had a chance of working, she thought, to see if what she'd thought was between them was real enough to survive.


	2. At Long Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They'd been so close back in the camp, giving each other support through the hard times, helping each other survive. Once, after Andrew had been injured, they'd even spoken of visiting Haven together, after the war had ended, "where you can 'ave all the four-footed ones around you want, Andrew". Now that Andrew was on his way to Haven, Peter couldn't help but be nervous. Had too much time passed? Had the closeness he remembered been more a product of war, the camp and all they were undergoing? Or was there really more? On the other side, would Haven be all Andrew had anticipated? Of course, he had no doubts Peter would be exactly as he remembered; Peter was the one person Andrew couldn't imagine ever being, well, not-Peter. 
> 
> Maude and Marisol were anxious for the arrival of this young man they'd heard so much about, the man who even talking about could sometimes bring a wry grin or a fond remembrance or an outright laugh to the war-weary man who'd returned to them. And Caeide? She had few doubts; Andrew Carter was an original, to be sure, and in her opinion there were far too few like him in the world. And of all the places he belonged, here, at Haven, with Peter, was the right one.

Andrew Carter's eyes were about to pop as he gazed down at the scene below him, ocean, then rocky cliffs, wide fields, stone walls, small cottages, and one much larger building nestled to one side. The plane swoped down lower and lower, finally coming to a rest at the edge of a grassy slope.

"Journey's end, Andrew," Patrick told his passenger cheerfully. "Likely you'll be glad to be done with the traveling for a bit. Out with you now, carefully. I'll hand our things down; I won't be staying long, but I'll be spending the night. Looking forward to one of Maudie's dinners, I am; she puts on a right fine spread, she does." Andrew eased out and stretched, looking around in wonder.

"It's so peaceful," he said.

"Well, right now, true enough, but there's times that's not so. When they're moving the stock, or," he laughed, "when the youngsters from the Clan are in residence, whooping and hollering much of the time. Then, it's not so peaceful. But, you're right, more times than not, it's a good and pleasant place to be, though lots of hard work involved in keeping it so. Come along, they'll be waiting for us, or," he chuckled as he looked toward the building below, "more likely to be coming to meet us. Look down there," pointing his hand toward the figures coming up the long trail, a small cart pulled by a trim mare, two figures seated in it, and two others walking along beside. The two groups met about halfway, with Patrick hanging back, as did the cart and the one woman walking, letting Andrew and Peter have their initial greeting alone. 

They stood silently, arms length away from each other, looking at each other, eagerly, yet somewhat shyly. Then, with a strangled laugh, Peter reached out his arms and Andrew rushed in to hug him in return. They stood that way, the taller dark haired man, the shorter one with the lighter coloring, clasped together as if never to be parted again.

Eventually, though, Peter drew back, reluctantly, "well, Andrew, come along. Caeide'll be anxious to see you again, and there's Maudie and Marisol wanting to meet you, and dinner close to being on the table and all." He was a little concerned; Andrew hadn't spoken at all, and his Andrew rarely shut up, not in his memory. He looked down carefully, and was reassured when he saw the eyes shining so brightly, the wide smile, and then the words started pouring out.

"Peter, I can't believe I'm really here, I couldn't believe it when you called, and how did Caeide think of all those things she told Mr. Perkins, I guess it wasn't very nice to tell him all those lies, but he'd never have agreed otherwise, and he'd have gotten my cousins to say I couldn't come, though they really don't have anything to say about it, but they would have managed it somehow, and were those sheep I saw when we landed, and I know I saw cows, and what do you grow in all those fields, and don't you worry some of the animals might fall off those cliffs, and how did Maude and Marisol get here, I thought they were at the pub in London, and have you heard from LeBeau and Kinch and the Colonel, and, oh Peter, I can't believe I'm here, and . . ."

"Andrew, Andrew, take a breath, you're back at your starting point, you know, and there'll be plenty of time for questions," Peter laughed with sheer joy to hear that voice, that never-ceasing free ranging dialogue, his Andrew back beside him. The others were coming at the end of the month, Hogan and Louie and Kinch, but he had three weeks before then, three weeks for it to be just him and Andrew; now that was a good thought, that was. Caeide heard that laugh, and had to fight the tears that wanted to flood her eyes, at the joy she'd not heard in him in ever so long..

 

Andrew's POV:

It had been one busy day, and oh boy, was he tired! First that long airplane ride from New York to that little airfield south of London, where Meghada and Goniff had gotten out to go home; then, the shorter plane ride from there to here. For some reason, Patrick had taken the long way around; he hadn't said why, just that it was necessary. Having Patrick show him Haven out the window when they tipped to make that sharp turn, and then landing on that narrow strip of land by the fields had been fun. But all that was nothing, not compared to what came afterwards! Peter and Caeide and Maude and Marisol came up to meet them, and oh, it was so good to see Peter again!

Gosh, he'd thought maybe he wouldn't ever see him again, not after they got separated on the way back; that had really made him sad; well, yeah, he'd known they'd all go their own ways after the war, if they survived that long, but he hadn't thought much about just how hard it'd be. And he worried about Peter; well, he worried about all the guys, except maybe the Colonel, he'd always come out all right, he always had, Andrew thought with a slightly grim look in his eye. But the others, it wouldn't be so easy, and Peter, well he had a fresh mouth and an attitude, and not everyone could see what a swell guy he really was under all that, and he did get in trouble a lot.

But Peter was there, just looking at him, and Andrew waited for him to say something, but then he didn't have to, cause he reached out and hugged Andrew, and everything was just as it was supposed to be, and Andrew found the breath to start talking again. The bags were thrown up into the cart, and he was invited to ride, like Patrick was doing, but he was really happy to be walking with Peter there pointing out things to him. Caeide had hugged him, told him welcome, but then she had climbed up in the cart too, and the cart pulled on ahead, at a fast trot, and the two of them took their time walking to the big house. The air was so clean here, and there were so many things to see, and animals everywhere! And it looked just like he remembered from his dreams, and he felt himself blush at the thought of those treasured dreams. Since he'd come home, he'd pictured Peter in a city somewhere, not here in the country, (well, until that really odd time out in the snow), but this felt right, and it sure was pretty here!

They'd had a really good dinner; boy, Maude was a really good cook, that's for sure. Peter and Caeide had showed him the room he'd be using, and she'd said if he needed anything she hadn't thought of, just to let her know, then she'd hugged him and told him again how glad she was to have him here, smiled at Peter and left. He heard her go back down the wooden stairs, saying something to her brother about his trip, but then Peter was talking to him, and he forgot all about the others.

That didn't mean he was hearing what Peter was saying, though; he was just so happy to have Peter in front of him, and to hear that familiar voice talking in that funny way he had, and he just gave a big smile, and had to tell him, "I am so glad to be here; I've missed you so much!"

Peter got a really strange look on his face, almost like he was going to cry, but Peter didn't do things like that, well, to hear him talk, he didn't anyway, and reached out and grabbed him by both shoulders and squeezed them tight, then hugged him, and sat him back away from himself.

"And I'm right glad to 'ave you 'ere, Andrew. We'll 'ave ourselves a fine time, we will; there's lots to show you, you'll love all the four-legged ones we 'ave running around. Maudie will try to put a good few pounds on you, that's for sure; she did everything but force feed me like a ruddy goose my first little bit 'ere. Marisol, she's a knowing one, she'll give you a 'eads up about what's what, and show you around some too, I know. Caeide now, she's a right managing one, though it's best you don't repeat that to her, acourse, but she'll not lead you astray, so just go along with 'er and you'll be fine."

"And you?" Andrew asked, with wide eyes.

"Why, Andrew, you and me, we'll be together just as much as you want. I'm getting around much better now, so I'm pretty much everywhere on 'aven, at one time or another. There's lots to see, you'll never believe! But it can be a bit dangerous, too, so 'ave a mind," he cautioned.

"Dangerous?" Andrew asked with wide eyes, and Peter gave a little laugh.

"Yes, well, not like what we were up against, but there's cliffs and caves, and sharks what swim out in the ocean below the cliffs, and some adders, them's poisonous snakes," and Andrew's eyes widened as he remembered, about Caeide and that adder and that dream visit, "and scorpions I'm told, though I've not seen one personally nor do I really want to. Also a wild ram up in the hills that's considered a peril, and Caeide says she's run across a wild boar, and" he gave a little laugh "some of the locals haven't taken to me too friendly like, but nothing too 'arsh, and I misdoubt they'll think to trouble you knowing 'ow Caeide'll be likely to react. They got a bit of a reminder not too long ago of w'at's likely to 'appen when they piss 'er off, and I can't see them forgetting so quick."

He laughed even louder, "And there are lofts, 'ay lofts you know, and Caeide'll be cautioning you about tumbling outta them."

"Oh, I know about lofts, I fell out of one when I was six, broke my collar bone and my left arm, but that was before I got older and understood that lofts weren't places to be playing games in," he told Peter with a grin.

"Well, you don't 'ave to go telling the others that, now," Peter replied uncomfortably, thinking what knowing looks the others would exchange, considering his own exploits with the loft. Then he thought better of it and grinned broadly, "on the other 'and, I think the others would LIKE to 'ear about you tumbling out of that loft, so's you just go right ahead and tell them." He frowned, "you wouldn't 'ave 'appened to be carrying a loaded pistol at the time, were you?" and Andrews eyes got big and round.

"Oh, golly, no!"

"Well, then, that's fine!"

They talked some more, Peter perched in the big arm chair, Andrew on the comfortable bed, til Andrew couldn't stop his yawns. Peter got up, reached over and ruffled his hair, like he'd used to do, and said, "get some sleep, Andrew. I'll see you in the morning. If you need anything, it being a strange place and all, my room's right across the 'all, Caeide's is two doors down along from mine toward the stairs. Loo is just through that door there." Then, with a final warm smile, he left, closing the door behind him.

Andrew sat there, looking around him at the warm comfortable room, obviously put together to make him feel welcome, and looked forward to the days to come. He didn't want to think about going back home, so he decided he just wouldn't, not til the absolutely last minute. For now, he was with Peter, and he was going to enjoy every minute!

Peter went to his own room and got ready for bed, chuckling at the memories of the day and the sheer joy of having Andrew at his side again. Then, he slowed in his walk across the room, faint memories tugging at him, memories of dreams, of those visits to Haven, the ones that couldn't have really happened, and he too remembered about Caeide and that adder, and he stopped dead in the middle of the floor, breathing deeply, remembering, only to briskly shake his head, telling himself he'd just let himself get too excited by Andrew being here, let himself get too worked up and now thinking foolish thoughts. Still, he was starting to remember things about those dream visits, and his eyes widened a bit as well, remembering sweet kisses, sweet passion, warm and loving arms.

Again, he shook his head, and made his way to his bed. Next he'd be thinking the Easter Bunny had perched on his bed at camp; what foolishness!


	3. Just Like A Member of the Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just like a member of the family - that was how they were coming to think of Andrew J Carter. He'd shown up, and it was like he dropped into a spot they'd never realized was empty before, an Andrew-shaped piece on the puzzle-board of their lives, just waiting for the young man to come and fill. Sometimes they shook their heads at the contradictions inherent in this one individual - deft-handed yet klutzy, naive yet oddly wise, enthusiastic and eager, even joyous, but with a strange underlying sadness. They'd thought to make allowances, accept him for Peter's sake, but they found they didn't have to even think about that - Andrew had made himself welcome to each of them, all on his own. Now, when they thought about it, they could no longer quite imagine Haven without the eager young man. Now, if he just felt the same way, maybe Haven could grow to what each of them could see hovering off to the horizon - a home where family could grow and live and be strong together.

.  
Maude's POV

She could hear him now, clattering down the stairs, talking away in that ever-circling way he had, and she laughed to herself. Caeide had been right about this one, he was just what their Peter needed. She'd not seen him in such harmony with himself and them since he'd come home. Well, seems the young American lad kept him too busy to get down in spirits, and it was a rare treat to see how confused he could get too, by some of the things young Andrew came up with. Now, sometimes she would catch glimpses of the boy Peter had never had the chance to be, and her heart would clinch at the sight. 

And it wasn't just with Peter that he was a treat. He had taken it on himself to be a part of the family, helping with chores as if it was just supposed to be that way. He would be headed out with Marisol after breakfast to tend the poultry, ducks, turkeys, chickens alike, and Marisol had told her earlier that she looked forward to his coming along.

"Never stops talking, really, but such a nice lad, not jumped up or trying to catch you out, just a really sweet boy. Makes me laugh,'e does, but a canny one too. Takes a real interest, sees things I'd maybe miss, thinks of things I'd not think of, like 'is telling me about guinea 'ens and 'ow they're death on those blasted ticks and lice that keep bothering the chickens. Lord knows I'm sick to death of 'aving to dust that powder over them, and 'ave to wonder what it does to them, what with them being so choaky and droopy afterwards, aye, and to us for that matter; my eyes burn for 'ours afterwards, and my skin itches and can't seem to wash the itch away. Went to the trouble of searching the library to find out about them, 'e did, and we're going to sit down and have a serious talk about whether they'd be worth trying up 'ere. Says they exist mostly on forage, so wouldn't add a lot to the feed bill, I'm thinking, probably offset the cost of that powder, and the meat and eggs might add a bit to the larder."

The boy helped her set the table, dried dishes for her, came around the stillroom and brewing room, asking questions, ready to lend a hand. And, she thought with a warm smile, last evening, when they'd lingered after dinner, talking about something she'd been considering, her moving downstairs, he'd listened thoughtfully, and when ideas were being passed around, he'd chimed right in with some. Of course, a few were so odd as to make her stare, and Peter choked a time or two at his notions, but some were right practical and helpful, and she'd been grateful.

It wasn't that she wasn't perfectly happy upstairs; she had been, ever since she and Marisol arrived. At first the three shared Caeide's room, since the others weren't quite finished or set up, but afore you knew it, there was her own snug room, across from Caeide's, next to Marisol's, just a sitting room between for the both of them to use and enjoy.

Now, though, her knees and hips were aching more and more. First there was that early trip down to the kitchen to stoke the fire and get breakfast started; back up for a bit to get properly dressed, then down again. Up for a bit of a rest mid-morning, then down again; same in the afternoon, and then again at night. The trips hadn't seemed like anything in the start, acourse, she hadn't been going up and down for that bit of rest in the beginning, either, but now, she was dreading those stairs more and more. Anyways, she'd talked to the others, and they had now, with young Andrew's input, she laughed to herself, come up with the notion of turning the big alcove off the main room into a snug area for her.

It made sense too; the polite fiction of Haven being built to serve as an inn had long been put to rest, and the big front room and alcove could be put to better use. It was but a step from the downstairs loo, not a dozen from the kitchen, another dozen or so to the stillroom. The brewery was in an adjoining building, Caeide not fancying the smell of hops so very much, not enough to want it in the house proper, but there were no steps other than the three down from the porch and the two up into the brewery, so that was all to the good. Now, it was to be put into place, as soon as the weather turned so they all had time away from the outside work, the new room to be readied and her things moved and her settled. In the meantime, they were putting one of Andrew's ideas into play; so simple, don't know why they hadn't thought of it themselves - a small daybed in the alcove off the kitchen, where she could have a bit of a rest when she needed it, a curtain to draw across for privacy. If there'd been any thought of his resenting working so hard on his visit, she'd not gotten a glimpse of it; seemingly he was grateful for being allowed to help, if anything.

And Caeide? Seemingly she'd adopted the lad for his own sake as much, or nearly as much, as for Peter's. He eagerly went with her to the fields, or to the stock barns, still chattering. Maude knew he talked to her of the days in that prisoner of war camp, something he'd not done with her or Marisol; but then, she'd been there, at least twice, as odd as that seemed, and her sister and brothers as well. He obviously felt comfortable talking to her, and Maude thought it probably gave Caeide a better grounding in understanding some of Peter's more unusual twists and turns, ones that hadn't been there before the war.

She knew that Caeide gave Andrew a lot of credit for getting Peter through safe, as well as sane, just as she did the others who would be visiting at the end of the month. Odd, though, while the girl spoke fondly of this Louie LeBeau, James Kinchloe, and of course, Andrew, and some others, she seemed a bit different when Peter or Andrew spoke about their commanding officer, this Robert Hogan. Somehow, Maude was sure there was no love lost between Caeide and this officer, though she knew from listening to Peter, both awake and from his talking in his sleep, in his dreams, in his nightmares, that the officer had been Peter's sometimes lover as well as his friend. Well, maybe that accounted for it; wasn't often that a man with two loves had them be so friendly toward each other anyway, not in her experience, though she knew the Clan felt differently about it somehow. Well, that was obvious with the approving way she looked at Peter and Andrew, when it was plain the two of them were meant to be together, as a couple that is. Now, why she approved of that with Andrew, but not this Hogan, that was something Maude would be interested in knowing.

Anyway, Caeide'd asked Maude and Marisol to be quite plain with the lad; if things had a chance of working the way you could see she'd like, the boy had to understand how Haven worked. He'd shown he wasn't afraid of hard work, he'd proven he could get along in close company, but there was more to life at Haven. It was a good life, but it was hardly a life of leisure, and it was a life with some hard realities.

He had such a love for the animals, and that was all to the good; they were all treated well here, but he'd have to accept they weren't pets, well except for the big hound and the house cats, and even they had their own jobs to do. If he couldn't deal with the reality of their existence, that their jobs were to provide meat, milk, eggs, wool and so on, it'd only bring grief. And with his overwhelming friendliness, they'd have to be sure he understood that some things just weren't discussed outside the ones living here. They had an understanding with the locals, to be sure, but not all looked all that kindly on the newcomers, and Caeide was not interested in giving them any more fodder for discussion and potential interference than necessary. And Clan business was just that, Clan business.

Well, today he was to help Marisol again, and Maude had asked her for a couple of chickens to stew, plus another two for roasting, so they'd see how he dealt with that, both the killing and the sheer nasty, messy experience of dipping and plucking and such. Sheep shearing had begun, and the small experimental flock, that with the longer, richer fleece, was due for that task in another few days; Caeide had already enlisted Andrew's help with that, so they'd know more then. There also was a hot, smelly, itchy job, always with small injuries to treat, bruises to receive, sheer aching tiredness at the end of the day to deal with. Somehow though, Maude thought they'd find the lad well able to accept the realities, and join in as would be needed.

.  
Marisol's POV

She didn't think she'd smiled so much in years; that young Andrew was a delight, never mind how much easier Peter was to deal with now the lad was here! She loved Peter as a brother, always had, and like a brother, he could be a world of exasperating; she was often tempted to knock him upside his head, he was that thick about some things, and a more stubborn man she'd never met. But since Andrew had arrived, Peter had regained some of his enthusiasm and ease of being; she couldn't say 'joy' as such, Peter had never been a particularly joyful person, the East End didn't lend itself much to that. But she was starting to see little sparks of something that might just be leaning toward joy, and for that she'd be forever grateful. 

It was surprising, really, how easily the Yank had fit into life here at Haven. He was a guest, newly arrived, but somehow, he seemed like family, like one of them, like he'd always been so. She was hopeful of the idea she knew Caeide was considering; Andrew hadn't talked much to her about his home, not as it was now, though he talked aplenty of how it once HAD been, with his grandfather and father and mother and cousins. When he'd start to say something about the 'now', he'd stop suddenly, and change the subject.

He had bad dreams, she knew; he'd woken her more than once with them, their rooms being next to each other. On one occasion, it had been so bad she'd wakened Peter to come see to him; she'd have done it herself, but she thought he might take it amiss, and she didn't want him to be uneasy with her. Now, she knew, Peter slept with his door ajar, and after Andrew went to sleep, slipped out quietly to open the younger man's door just an inch or so, to be able to better hear if he needed help rousing from the nightmares. Well, Peter'd be the one to know something about nightmares; he still had the occasional one, with Caeide slipping in to help with those if he wasn't already with her, and in the early days, they could be every night, sometimes more than once a night. No one had gotten much sleep through those times, she remembered.

Maude treated the young man like a favored grandson, and Caeide, much as she did her younger brother, though with an added measured awareness of him that was something Marisol hadn't seen with her before. She didn't quite understand it, but she knew Caeide had a genuine fondness for Andrew, and a respect for him.

There were women aplenty who'd resent the closeness between the two men, she knew that, but Caeide had always known of Peter's needing the presence of both women and men in his bed, and had never taken an issue with that. In fact, she seemed to treasure the sight of the two of them together, exhibiting such real affection toward each other, and when Maude had questioned her, most bluntly, about how she'd react if Peter took Andrew into his bed, she'd seemed surprised that they would think she'd mind. Indeed, seemingly she'd be most pleased, providing that was what the two of them really wanted.

Marisol had spoken with Maude after, asking what the older woman thought the outcome would be if Peter decided to keep ONLY Andrew in his bed, leaving Caeide only to the role of friend and benefactor. "She loves him, Mari, always has, I'd wager, and the love the Clan women have for their men, it's some different than what we're used to. She'd prefer to share him than not have him at all, provided it was with someone worthy of him, and would prefer to not have him at all if trying to keep him to herself would make him miserable. Long years she spent without him, and not just living in the hope, the expectation that he'd be hers someday. No, more like accepting what was, trying to make the most of it, trying to be in a position to offer help should he need it. Much like she did for us, but on a different level, so to speak. She'd deal with the reality, what ever it is, always thinking about Peter more than about herself; I don't know that she has it in her to do anything else."

"That's with young Andrew, of course. I think that commander of his, Hogan, would be another story; Andrew she doesn't look at as a threat to Peter or his happiness; the other one, I don't think she trusts to have the proper care of Peter and his happiness and his future. It will be most interesting when he and the others arrive later."

.  
Caeide's POV

What a joy it was, watching them together! Andrew was a delight, relishing everything and everyone at Haven, Peter proud and eager to show Andrew everything, thinking of ways to make him feel welcome and at home. She found herself laughing more than she could remember, watching them; they played to each other with an ease born of familiarity and true affection. Peter would tease Andrew over his rather remarkable clumsiness, then turn to act exasperated at Andrew's chattering, all the while with a glow in his eyes that made Caeide feel like she was moments away from tears, good tears.

Andrew would be busy with something, everything, and glance over at Peter, and it was as if he couldn't believe he was really here, that Peter was really here, and there would come a look of such rare tenderness that her breath would catch in her throat. If any two people belonged together, it was these two, and so she told Maude and Marisol, not even thinking to guard her words, not knowing she was echoing what the two woman had said about her and Peter so many years ago.

Maude looked at her, assessing her words, and nodded, "aye, I can see that; what does that mean for you, for them, for Haven, as far as you can see it?" Marisol sat watching, listening, half holding her breath. Haven had become home for them, and anything that affected Haven would end up affecting Maude and Marisol as well, there was no way around that.

Caeide took a deep breath, let it out, and proceeded to tell them her thoughts. "It's been difficult here for him without the company of other men; well, he'd too many years with only men around him for it to be otherwise, I'd think. Reverend Miles visiting, that's been a blessing, for sure, but Peter has little common ground with the other men of the area, though I think Davie Rhys and perhaps Elis Tanner are becoming good friends, the others there not being enough, at least yet, to overcome any lingering resentment of him as an outside male coming into their territory to claim what they think of as a prize."

She gave a heartfelt grimace, at the thought of being considered some sort of trophy, though she was honest enough with herself to know it was Haven that was what the others would have considered the trophy, not her. She'd have been considered what had to be tolerated in order to GAIN that trophy. That was always good for the self-image, she'd thought to herself ruefully.

"He has true feelings for those who were in the command team, Andrew, Louie, James," and with a reluctant pause, covered somewhat by her taking a sip of coffee, "Hogan." 

"Andrew, I think, held a very special place in his heart, as we can see from how they act around each other now. Andrew is a bit lost; he's no close family left, no real place in the world where he's valued, where his talents and skills are needed and used to good advantage. I would like to have us use this visit to see if we all think he might be a good addition to Haven; perhaps not a perfect match, but one good enough that he and Peter, well all of us, would rub along well enough to consider making it a permanent thing."

Maude considered carefully, and then asked the very pertinent question she'd had in her mind since she seen how the two interacted. "And if Peter decides to take the lad to his bed? It's more than likely, you know. Not all of that affection is brotherly, that's plain enough, and on both sides. And if he does, and decides that's more to his taste, how will you handle having a cold bed again? Will you be able to have them here, close, knowing that?" Marisol has stiffened at this questioning; sure, these were much the same thoughts as she'd had, but they sounded harsh and cold, laying out there in the middle of the table like that.

Caeide looked at Maude, then at Marisol, with bewildered eyes. Then, understanding crept in, and she gave a soft rueful laugh, accompanied by a shake of the head.

"You've become such a part of my family, sometimes I forget you're not Clan-reared. I sincerely hope Peter takes Andrew to his bed, provided of course Andrew wants that as well, which I've a mind he does. I think it will only add to the deep caring they have for each other; I don't know what if anything occurred between them in the camp." She didn't broach what she knew of the dream visits; they'd not understand that, nor likely even believe it.

"I know the potential between them is very great and I would like to see it fulfilled. Whether Peter continues to visit my bed is something I've thought of, and carefully." She laughed again, and grinned at them, mischieviously, "I even made one of my notorious lists," and they laughed back at her, her penchant for addressing any quandry with a list being well known among them even from the early days.

"I listed all the things I value about Peter, all the ways he enhances my life, enhances our lives here at Haven. At the very end, I included his presence in my bed as my lover, and I asked myself, if I were to cross that off the list, would that be sufficient to negate the rest of the value he has to me, to us, and the answer was a resounding NO! I'd mourn the loss, you know that, perhaps more than anyone else would know, but I'd not want him gone, not want the two of them gone. They would still be family, and family is valued, and needed, and welcome."

She gave them a firm nod, and the two older women looked at each other, assessing how they viewed her statement, and smiled. Yes, she was sincere, yes, she had the fortitude to make this work.

They resolved, there around the table, to work with young Andrew, to see how he could fit into their world, to see him as a person, as potential family. And each hoped sincerely that it would come to be, for the sake of the prideful, stubborn man they each loved, each in their own way.


	4. A Future That May Or May Not Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was all going so well, so why had that nightmare hit out of the blue? Was it a foretelling, a warning, or just a Freudian slip? Caeide and a concerned friend have to figure that out before it causes problems neither of them want. And as for Peter, he's figuring out how to broach an important subject with Andrew, and finding it far more difficult than he'd imagined.

.  
Almost three weeks had passed, it seeming like both a very short time, and yet somehow like forever. Peter had made up his mind what he wanted to do, and discussed it once again with Caeide, and then with Maude and Marisol as well. All were in agreement that asking Andrew to come be a part of their family would be a good thing; that he'd make a welcome addition to Haven. That was, of course, if he wanted to do so. Peter thought he just might; Andrew fit in so well, and seemed to greet each day with such pleasure, he and Haven seemed made for each other. 

There was one thing Peter hadn't made up his mind about, or at least he told himself that. He wanted Andrew here, happy and safe and close, no matter whether Andrew would want anything more. Oh, blast, just say it! If Andrew didn't want him, not as more than a friend, that is. He knew now, acknowledged what he had felt all that time in the camp, he loved Andrew, wanted him in his bed; if that happened, between both Caeide and Andrew for him to love, he'd be utterly content, he thought. However, just having him here, even without that, that would be a good thing. That wasn't such an easy thing to find out, though. You couldn't just walk up to a chap and say, "we'd like you to come live with us, and oh, by the way, would you like to share my bed while you're at it?" He didn't want Andrew to think the offer was made with just that in mind, and he didn't want Andrew to think he had to say yes to that in order to be able to live at Haven, but he just couldn't figure out how to bring up the subject. He was finding himself more and more frustrated with his inability to think it all through, and he really had wanted to make the offer before Hogan, Kinch and Louie arrived in a couple of days.

Finally, Caeide just sat him down and said, "Peter! You've got to ask him, give the invitation, never mind the more personal part, just the part about living at Haven! He needs some quiet time to think about it, and once the others arrive, I'd think quiet time will be in short supply. The other part, those things need to be handled in their own time, not rushed by a deadline." He nodded, and determined to deal with it in the morning.

After breakfast, as he finished the last sip of his tea, he turned to Andrew and said, "I've some work to do up at the big barn, come along with me, there's something I'd like to talk with you about, eh, Andrew?" Andrew agreed eagerly, and the two went walking up the long trail, the three women watching after them.

"Is he really going to ask him, finally?" Maude asked. She'd watched Peter get up his nerve, then change his mind, more than once this past week.

"I think so; I certainly hope so! I'd like it settled, at least the inviting part done, before the others get here," Caeide answered.

"Speaking of that, how are we going to arrange things when they DO get here? Where do we put them, I mean, and how do we deal? What can we expect?" Marisol asked, pouring another cup of tea.

Caeide took a deep breath, "The guest quarters, at the front of the house. I'm fine with Andrew being in the family part, and I'd not mind Kinch or Louie, but I'm not comfortable with Hogan being in there," she said with a grimace, then laughing a bit at the knowing looks she received from the two women.

"Yes, I know that makes me a total bitch, I admit it. I can make myself behave as a proper hostess when I'm on guard, I'm sure, well, pretty sure, but I don't want to stumble over him in the hallway in the middle of the night headed to the loo, or anywhere else," she said with a downward glance toward the table.

"You're going to tell Peter he's not to bring him into his room, like he's a teenager?" Marisol asked incredulously.

"No, of course not, I just trust Hogan is still the same man I met, which means he will want to be in control, which means having Peter come to HIS room," she said. "As for anything else, I plan to give them, all of them, as much time together as they want and need, letting Andrew be with them or with us, as he prefers; I imagine it will be a bit of both for the lad."

Maude looked at the young woman, thought hard about what she intended to say, hesitated, but said it anyway.

"Do you think he'll be tempting Peter away? Do you think he'll try, do you think Peter will follow him? If he does, how does this affect young Andrew?" Then, after a long pause, "and how does that affect us, Marisol and me?"

Caeide looked up at her in shock! "The last part first, if you don't mind. You and Marisol are family; I love you both, dearly. You are part of Haven, for as long as you choose to be, for all your lives if I am so blessed, but," and slow tears came to her eyes, "I hold no one captive here," her face showing her hurt at the thought. "Should you decide you want to leave, you know I'll help in any way I can, help you find where you want to be . . ."

She stopped as Maude took her by the shoulders and shook her just a bit, "Lassie, I didn't mean you to take it that way. We're happy here, and want to be nowhere else; but without Peter, the thought crossed our minds that we'd only be a reminder of the loss. Well, it's good to know that's not the case, and we can put that out of the way. What about young Andrew? Is it the same for him, though."

Caeide frowned, "I hadn't given that much thought, but yes, I can say it would be the same. I've obviously not known him for that long, not nearly as long as I've known you two, but he's a joy to be around, he needs a better place, somewhere he's valued. Yes, even without Peter, Andrew would be welcome here," she said resolutely, and the other two women nodded in relief, for they felt much the same.

"As for him trying to take Peter away, I think that is a good possibility, if not physically, then trying to create some distance in other ways. I'll not say more to that; it'll do no good for me to fill your ears with my stories, my thoughts on that; you'll be able to judge on your own, and may find you have quite a different perspective. I'm actually hoping you do; I'd feel better about Peter if you did. Do I think Peter might fall sway to him, in one way or another? I daren't think on it, one way or another, or I'll not be able to cope with this."

"If you feel so strongly, why did you invite him?" Marisol inquired, sipping at the last of her tea.

"Peter misses them, all of them, and I couldn't easily invite the other two without him, now could I? Besides, I've tried very hard to keep my feelings about Hogan out of view, as much as I'm able; there's no way it would be helpful if I didn't, you know," she admitted ruefully. (There would be times in the coming years when she'd think about that decision and truly wonder if she'd made the right one.)

She got up, put her cup in the sink, and went out do continue her morning's work. Maude and Marisol sat for awhile thinking. Maude finally sighed and said, "well, it will be interesting, to say the least, to meet the three, after all the stories Peter's told us. We can make up our own minds, as she says, and hope for the best. I'd truly hate for the lad to make a big mistake, though; I've not seen him this contented in years."

Marisol agreed, and added, "hopefully he'll not do something rash out of stubborn pride, it's not just his own wellbeing at risk," thinking of young Andrew, Caeide, and indeed, the two of them as well..

***

{"Why that particular dream, why now?"} she asked herself, as she awoke in a cold sweat. She got up and got dressed, headed down to the kitchen for an early cup of coffee. She thought over the dream as she sat there, {"a foretelling, galloping paranoia caused by their arrival, something nicely Freudian caused by my deepseated distrust?"} If she knew the answer to that, she'd have know how to handle this feeling of doom that had her so shaken.

Maude and Marisol came down the stairs, raising their brows at the sight of Caeide sitting at the table, so deep in thought, dark shadows under her eyes, anxious frown on her face.

"What's to do, lass? Didn't sleep well?" Maude asked in concern. A smile tried to cross the younger woman's face, but didn't quite succeed.

"Bad dreams, really bad dreams," she admitted.

"Anything you want to talk about?" Marisol asked sympathetically; she'd had her own share of bad dreams through the years.

"Not right now, I need to think on them for awhile, try to figure out . . ., well, not right now."

"Anything to do with our visitors coming?" Maude asked, knowingly.

"Oh, more than likely," and a small smile finally arrived, a rather grim, sad smile, but at least a smile. She got up and went out to start her day. Maude and Marisol sat down to their own coffee, to share their own apprehensions about the upcoming visit.

She perched on the fence of the pasture outside the stock barn, trying to remember. Bits and pieces only, vignettes, isolated scenes . . .

. Going in through big double glass doors, trying to seem casual, like she was supposed to be there. Wondering where they would be, those files she needed so desperately to find, to retrieve. Waiting til there was no one in the thin, balding Russian's office, searching, finding, bundling them all together.  
. Being found out by him, somehow exchanging something, she couldn't remember what, for him to release her with the files.  
. Getting back to a big brick building, only to have her, what, employers? find the files in her hands weren't the ones she was to have retrieved, them determining the Russian had somehow switched them, or her having betrayed them. Accusations from other people, loud, shouting some of them, snide and contemptuous from others. Inefficient, traitor, idiot.  
. Being given a choice, a version of the old 'loaded gun on your desk' or for them to do it for her. Escaping, after hitting one woman who called her a coward for making them handle 'her mess'. Visions of a knotted noose in front of her.  
. Running, finding Peter waiting for her in a car, driving, driving only to end up on a pier overlooking the ocean.  


."Did they buy it?" Peter asked her.

"Yes," she smiled, a bit sadly, "they bought it. I was very convincing."

"Where are the files now?" he asked, not looking at her, gazing off into the horizon.

"In the locker at the train station, just where you said I should put them, of course. Don't I usually do what you ask?" now the sadness had reached her voice.

He glanced over at her, and looked away quickly, "of course you do, luv; I can always depend on you," guilt evident in his low tone.

Sitting there, together, waiting, he'd not said for what, but she knew. "It's alright, you know, I know I'm not coming out of this one."

A quick look, startled, and he took a deep breath. "When did you know?"

"From the time you called; he has too much riding on this, he can't be found out, someone has to be held responsible, pay the price, he'd prefer not to risk you, and I'm more than expendable."

"We all are, in the long run," was his reply, very quietly, almost in a whisper.

She looked at him, no condemnation in her face, only resignation. "Yes, even Andrew, it seems, even the children; the Clan will take care of them, but it's not the same, they'll suffer for this, no matter how well they are provided for. But that's not important to him; he always wants to look at his 'big picture', whatever his vision of the better good might be. Germans, Chinese, Russians, always someone to get the better of," she said, with more than a little bitterness.

She looked at him, measuringly, "Peter, have you ever gotten just a little tired of being sacrificed to his vision, of having him determine what you should and should not hold to be important?"

Again, he sat there, looking off into the distance, "I've been tired of it for quite some time, I just 'ave never been able to tell 'im no. I should never 'ave got you involved, put you, yes and 'aven, Andrew, the children, and all, at risk because of 'im and 'is schemes."

He inhaled deeply, and turned to her with the saddest look in his eyes, "share a drink with me, luv, one last time?" as he pulled out a flask and handed it to her. She looked at it, raising her brows, a knowing expression on her face; he looked down at it, gave a miserable excuse for a smile, and pulled it back, "well, maybe I'll take the first drink, if you promise me you'll take the second; I'd planned it the other way around, but that don't really matter, does it? Just, there's little time, be sure it's done before they . . ." and started to raise it to his lips.

She laid her hand on his, stopping him, "decided to come with me, Peter dear, for good this time?"

"Should have done that years ago," he whispered, touching her cheek, a mist of unshed tears, untold regret in his eyes.

"Then, let's," with a smile, a different smile, not nearly so sad. She dropped her handbag down between the seats, opened her door. At her urging, he got out of the car, walking with her quickly to the end of the pier. A small boat was approaching, moving across the waters so fast the waves broke against its hull in a continuous spray of water; it was impossible to see who was at the wheel. He turned to her, questions in his eyes. She reached out to touch him lightly, knowing what the future would hold. Feeling the heat, feeling the force as the car exploded behind them, as the small boat reached them.  


.Louie, opening the door to his restaurant, seeing the tall American standing there, not stepping aside for the man to enter. "I was not expecting you," coldly addressing his former commander.

"You weren't answering my calls, nor is Kinch, and I don't know where Carter is."

"You expected something different? You betrayed him - you caused him to betray her. You thought we would accept that, forgive that?"

"You don't understand, there were reasons, it was necessary. . . And I never expected Peter to die, there was a plan in place, I don't know why he didn't get away in time."

"HE was to get away, but not her. Non, do not talk to me of your reasons. Yes, I am sure you had them, yes, I am sure they were for the 'betterment of mankind'; they always are," Louie said with a sneer and in a loud, bitter voice. "Did it ever occur to you that Peter was part of that 'mankind', as was Caeide, Andrew, the children, all of us? Leave, General, do not return, do not call, do not write, do not even whisper our names. You no longer have the right."

Hogan walked away, shaking his head; he would always regret that what he had had to do, had somehow, he still didn't understand how, cost Peter his life, and he would always regret that LeBeau did not understand that the rest had been only what was necessary. But, he did not regret what he had done. They had never been able to see the big picture, even back in the camp, only he'd been able to do that, only he knew what was truly important, what had to be done.  


. A small coffee shop, tall husky black man with a mustache sitting hunkered over a cup of coffee. Tall American officer in uniform walking through the door to sit down across from him.

"Hello, Kinch."

A nod, "hello, General. Heard you were trying to find me."

"Yes, you and Andrew,". That got him a cold look from the man sitting across from him.

"Why?"

"Why? I wanted, needed to talk to you both, to say how sorry I am about how things worked out, about Peter. I saw LeBeau, well, he's taking it hard," the officer told him.

"Alright, you've told me, is that all?" came the expressionless reply.

With a frown at the less than warm welcome, "no, I need to talk to Andrew, and I need to go to Haven to see the boys, but I've always been flown there, I don't have the coordinates to go on my own, or directions for driving or however you get to that middle of nowhere place."

"Andrew? And the boys? There are daughters too, or don't they count, just as their mother didn't count?"

"Kinch, it's just that, well, without their father, they'll need . . ."

Kinch's nostrils flared. "Stay away from them, General, just stay from them. Were you thinking to see which of the boys maybe inherited some of Peter's skills, or" and the look on his face turned bitter cold, colder than it had before, "maybe just which of the boys inherited Peter's looks? Which you might train to take his place in your world, where ever that might have been? Well, it doesn't matter. They aren't yours, will never be yours, and you won't be welcome at Haven, I can promise you that!"

In a patient voice, firm with authority, superior speaking to subordinate who'd gotten just a little above himself, "Kinch, that's not really your decision to make, but we won't go into that now. Just tell me where Andrew is, how I reach him; I need to talk to him."

With a inscrutable look, and a shrug, "then talk to him, General; you can do that sitting right where you are, as well as anywhere. Say hello to Peter, while you're at it, though I doubt you'll be wanting to include Caeide in your greeting, though she'd be there too. He's with them; has been since just after it happened. He's never wanted to be anywhere else, except beside them."

Hogan looked stunned. "But how?"

"Is that important? He found a way, the Clan will see to the children, to Haven. I meant it; stay away from them; you're the last person they need or want to see, now, ever. You're the last person I ever need or want to see again." He got up and walked out.  


."No, you three will stay here; for once, we're giving the orders," coming from their oldest daughter.

"Louisa. . ."

"She's right, Da, forget it; we've had it all planned out for weeks. We knew he'd come. Trust us," with a smile from Louisa's twin, Jamie. Giving a reluctant nod, knowing they were right, knowing they needed to stay 'dead' to this man, but hating the idea of having their children protect them, turning to the screens that reflected the landing field at the far edge of the pasture.

A small plane had been circling, asking permission to land, citing equipment failure, and in just a few minutes, an answer would be given, instructions given for the landing. They'd be waiting, these children of theirs, their 'stairsteps' as they'd called them. Twenty, seventeen, fifteen, ten, eight - twins, each lot, so ten in all. All on horseback, all armed, pistols, rifles, knives in scabards. The babies, in the cradles at the side of the room, the only members of the family not armed. Peter, Caeide, Andrew, all armed, just in case; they'd reluctantly agreed to let the next generation handle this, but they'd not stay and do nothing if things went all pearshaped, obviously. Hadn't seen any reason for, had argued against the four younger ones participating, til it was explained to them, at which they'd given a wry grin.

Yes, it would be disconcerting to be faced with 'children' acting so not like children; Hogan had always been uneasy about the Clan, Clan ways, especially the Clan females. They all knew there was a possibility that the plane, its passenger and pilot, would never be leaving Haven; they all accepted that as a grim, but necessary possibility. Hogan had taught them all about 'acceptable collateral damage.' He was a good teacher; he'd given them a master course in the concept, after all.

.Plane on the ground, pilot explaining the engine just started choking out, obviously lying through his teeth since Hogan was trying to justify being there, trying to give his condolences for their loss, mentioning Peter, even with a great deal of effort, Caeide; asking after Andrew, not willing to believe what Kinch had told him. Jamie giving an order, Liam riding up to the plane, leaning in over the open nose, making a yanking motion, "think I found the trouble, see, here, Jamie," holding a handful of wires up into the air. Pilot exploding in anger, yelling at Liam, yelling at Hogan for getting him into this.

Louisa ignored him, turned to Karl and Kat, "how hard to get that thing over the edge of the cliff, into the sea?" she asked. A casual shrug from Kat, "we hitch the teams to it, get it turned right, no problem at all," levelling a cold look at Hogan. Karl smiled broadly, "no problem at all, just an exercise in logistics."

Hogan, jaw clinched in answer, trying to reason with them, offering the boys a life away from this 'backwoods', trying to tell them it's what Peter would have wanted for them, a place in the real world, telling them the Clan was fine for the girls, but they, the boys, didn't really have a place there; then trying to shout at them, as they started circling the horses around the two men on the ground, never taking their eyes off them.

The circle getting tighter, tighter, then - "you have one chance, Hogan, one chance, and that's more than you deserve. You take that plane, that hirelingg of yours, and you get the hell out of our lives. You've already caused more damage than any one man has a right to. Da, Daddy Andrew, Ma. Next time, there'll be no warning," solemnly from Jamie, the oldest boy, the one looking most like Peter, except perhaps for ten year old Scotty (enough like Peter to warm Hogan to his depths but for that cold, alien look in his eyes). "The plane?" Liam held up the wires, "these? Just bits and bobs from around the homestead," with an amazingly icy smile, so out of place on a face that looked so much like Andrew's.

The pilot let out a curse and stormed toward him, to be met with a cocked rifle held by Morgana, and a thrown knife biting deep into the ground at his feet, courtesy of young Colin. He backed up, hands raised in the air.

Hogan looked at these, what, children? No, looking into their eyes, he realized whatever they were, they were not children, not even the youngest ones, their mother's blood showing in each of them, and Kinch had been right, they were not, nor would they ever be, his. He nodded, and together he and the pilot got in the plane and took off. He looked down at them, watching him, rifles at the ready, just in case. The pilot was concerned about getting the plane aloft before they reached the cliff edge, but he heard the man in the other seat muttering to himself, 'they don't understand, they just don't understand. It's her fault, all of it; Peter understood, Andrew used to understand. Somehow, she managed to ruin all that. How, that's the part I don't understand; it was all so clear.'  


.Standing in the hills above Haven, looking out over the sea. "''ow many years, Caeide lass, 'ow many years did I waste following 'im? Besides, too many, I mean," he asked, drawing deeply on that ever present cigarette.

"Not wasted, love, perhaps not used to the very best advantage, but not wasted," with a smile, nodding back toward the homestead, where Andrew and the children waited. "And now, the chance to use our remaining years to better advantage, perhaps." She looked up at him, her proud, stubborn Brit. "Are you ready for that, now, Peter? Ready to live your life, rather than his vision of your life?"

His face was sad, worn, but there was a kind of peace starting to settle over him now, "yes, Caeide luv, I'm ready."

 

She wrote it all down, her dream; recorded it in her journal and sat it aside. So, was it a foretelling of what was to be, a warning to prepare her, or a cautioning of what might come if she didn't will herself to fight for him, for his best interests? She didn't know; maybe the coming days would guide her. He deserved more than sadness and betrayal, he deserved better than to be used for political purposes, for personal ambition. Always the balance, how to strive for his best good, without confusing that with her own wants and needs. It was never easy, she'd been taught that, not to expect it to be easy, but it was necessary; she would somehow figure this out, she had to. All of that she wrote in her journal as well, to remind herself later, no matter what happened, of what she had felt today.

***

Maude hesitated. She had never done anything like this before; privacy was a much-valued commodity here at Haven, and she'd never violated that. Now, though, as upset as Caeide had been about her bad dreams, she girded herself and took up the journal from the drawer where she knew it was kept. She worked her way backwards, only to the part where the young woman had related her dream, her thoughts about what it may or may not have meant. Nodding to herself she slipped the journal back where it belonged and left the office, headed back to the kitchen, back to think on what she'd read. More than ever, she needed to meet this Hogan, to see if Caeide's apprehensions made sense. If they did, well, perhaps Maude might have to dip her finger into the pot and give it a stir. Maybe, just depending . . .

Andrew's eyes were huge, and his mouth gaped open for a minute. "You mean LIVE here, like, for good?"

"Yes, well, that's what we were thinking, Andrew. You fit in 'ere, the others love 'aving you 'ere, and you know I do! You seem to like it well enough, there's plenty to keep you busy, well, there's enough around 'ere to keep EVERYONE busy, there's always something going on, and we need someone who's good with the animals, you know, someone who understands them, like." He looked over at Andrew, thought back over his words and almost panicked.

"It's not that you'd be a farm 'and, you know, nor anything like that! You'd be family, just like the rest of us, and live in the family quarters, of course. Caeide says you'd 'ave the room you're in now, plus the adjoining room, as sort of a private sitting room, if you like." Andrew wasn't saying anything, {"that's not a good sign,"} Peter thought despairingly, {"knew I'd crock up the asking of it, should've left it to Caeide,"} though he knew it wasn't really for her to be asking this, it was him.

"Andrew?" he tilted his head and asked softly, "Andrew? Are you angry that I asked? I didn't mean to do anything you'd not like, I'm sorry . . ."

Andrew finally got his voice back, "you really mean that? All of you would really let me live here??" looking up at Peter like he just couldn't believe it was possible.

Peter let out a huge sign, {"mayhap I DIDN'T muck it all up totally, after all!"}

"Yes, Andrew, we'd really let you, we really WANT you to. Will you at least think it over?" Peter asked his young friend hesitantly. "You don't 'ave to give an answer right away, but please, think it over, seriously?"

Andrew gave a huge sigh, and smiled a small wondering smile, "Yeah, I'll think it over."


End file.
